PULP & PAPER

Pulp fiction S

So many type of cravings and hunger…

Write

Not for perfection as poetry is the most emotionally imperfect art. Stay away from exactitude, lose yourself in the explosion of senses you offer.

Words are precious gems trickling down my spine. Sometimes they come and go mending and soothing the pain as they can be a barrel of gunpowder in a tank of gasoline. They have to be truly felt before being offered or thrown.

How ironical that the dead trunk is the best sound box and you can make it burst in life!

Carved into the bark, the words go deeper than you think, boosting the blood in their inked path. The blade is nothing without the cut flesh.

I know how words trigger the very best sap, fountain of youth that lingers just below the skin. Some echoes deeper, vibrating in the bones and some are just as a light breeze from your lips to my neck, crawling up my ear as they caress the stem of each strand of hair.

Tell me more

Write a bit

Make the lines tangle, the rimes chant and the verses disclose.

Make me dance.

Let’s change hunger.

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